


Ascensions Curse

by Bluebensie



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29915640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebensie/pseuds/Bluebensie
Summary: Phil has watched for thousands of years as new and old gods clashed. He doesn't know where it will end, or even if there is an end. Immorality is a strange concept.
Relationships: Philza/Kristen Minecraft
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Ascensions Curse

**Author's Note:**

> I am so so sorry I did not edit this like at all, I just did not want to. Sorry if it was nonsense.

If an angel had ever scraped the surface of whatever mystery godhood was, that awful beast would have been Philza. Morality and immortality were oceans away from one another, and Phil had floated between timelessly. An angel of Death. Many others had fallen before him, trying to reach some grand goal of self-righteousness. Phil, however, knew that ascension danced with forgetting yourself. Morality and immortality. 

They were so far apart, especially for a god. 

Years felt like seconds. Phil did not come from the binds of the human soul or body. When the sunlit its fires and bathed the green globe for the very first time, Phil bloomed with the flowers. He walked the edge of matter itself, where others cried for more time he waited silently for less. He watched as the tide tore apart the land and ice swallowed the seas. He watched as it melted and creatures reborn of muck ruled. He watched as civilizations rose and fell, drawing the man-made concepts of time and Morals in sands that had not been there before. 

Phil. He was not the first god of the mortal realm, only one of few. A partner ran her fingers through the raven black of his wings, entwining him with a new idea. The idea of Life. 

Kristen was a goddess, undeniably parallel to Phil. Where he had risen in the damp cold of evergreen, Kristen had laid with lilac and bluebell until the world whispered for her to wake. She had hair of night sky, starless till she stood in the sunlight. She was the delicacy of balance and the untouchable roughness of being Alive. 

Much like Phil, she had wings. Where his wings were feathered and dark, filled with galaxies and flickering lights; hers, though, were tiny scales and soft fuzz, like that of a moth. The few quarrels they had, playing their endless game of flickering through time, had been of Phil attempting to touch her wings. 

He hadn’t understood her anger. She tried to reason with him, filled with pity and frustration. The oddest part, the anger didn’t seem directed to him but to some otherworldly thing she couldn’t reach. 

In human terms, he was Death. The reaper who’s touch could and would turn the unstable balance of time to ash. She was Living, though, she was the ragged pain of every day and soft wonder of viewing the stars for the first time. Her wings were fragile as well, they would be ash beneath his hands. Where she was immortal, her wings seemed another entity altogether. 

His hands may never grace her wings, as his touch was poison. His hands may never grace the world around him. He was only made to collect those she could no longer Love. Acceptance came slowly, but time was nothing to immortality. He had taken a sickle from early civilization and modified it to his use. Just as the humans worked in the fields, collecting just enough to survive, Phil would collect those who didn’t. Where he had previously been uncaring of the humans, assuming they would fall just like the millions of creatures before them, the humans had begun to change things. Their minds warped this world, influencing whatever strange thing had started Phil and Kristen. They created new gods, ones born of man-made ideas. 

The first was Rebirth. Both a nuisance and subject of fascination for both Phil and Kristen. The new god would hold those Kristen left behind before Phil could reach them, and breathe new Life into their still lungs. Kristen knew those she had left had been forgotten with reason, although someone who could challenge her power was certainly interesting. Phil only wished to complete his job. 

Phil was the first to find the new god. He had been wandering the human societies, the places they left, upon finding the creature. He had been half-submerged, buried in the jungle lake, eyes closed and statue still. A god of Rebirth left to grow moss and vine in the still of a jungle lake. Odd. 

“Awake, new god. I have a question.” 

It obeyed, unfurling itself as it did. The new god was huge, towering over Phil. Its eyes were emerald stone, inlaid in its parchment yellow flesh. It seemed to be made of clay and mineral, with a humanoid form. Although, the marine god seemed to have blessed this creature. Gills, tails, fins, and serrated teeth spoke of the predators hiding beneath the waves. 

“Death god,” It spoke slowly, “I am surprised to see you. What do you ask of me?” 

Phil attached the sickle to his back, between his wings.

“Why do you give the humans new lives? You betray both the Life god and I.” Phil called, trying to keep the venom from his voice. The new god slowly blinked, setting its massive hand down next to Phil. Water poured from its discolored flesh, covered with waterweed and algae. 

“They need something to believe in. Humans fear you greatly, and they pray to get a second chance. The shivering fear that drives their everyday Life is like explosions in my mind. My chest hurts if I even miss one. The humans are greater than any creature before They deserve another chance.” 

Phil stretched his wings out to either side, the grass decaying where his star-coated feathers brushed them. Anger caused his hands to shake. 

“How dare you? Do you betray me for your own sake? I have outlived you since the dawn of time, and I will outlive this phase of humans. I could just slay you now.” 

The massive god lowered its humanoid face, adorned with gold and emerald, to Phil’s level. 

“You could, and you may. I will be back soon though. This idea of Rebirth is no phase. Kill me and I will rise again, with the sun each morning.” 

Phil knew the new god spoke no lies. 

“You foolish beast.” He hissed at it, no matter the childishness of name-calling. 

“Foolish. You may be right. Call me that for now, I have no other name, Death god. Now, I must rest.” 

Foolish stood up again, the world groaned with his every movement. The trees shook their bows to him, the flowers turned their faces, as he settled back half submerged. Those glowing emerald eyes closed, sentencing Foolish back to his wait. 

Kristen should know its name at least. There was no point fighting the changing world. 

The next god was one Kristen had found. He had lived for many years, yet had been elusive enough that neither Phil nor Kristen had been able to catch him. Kristen had sent for him in the east wind, asking for him to quickly join her. 

They found one another in the plains, on a circular island between quick-moving rivers. Wood sorrel and bleeding hearts bloomed in bushels under a lone honey locust tree. The air swam with gnats and dragonflies, heavy with the call of cicadas. Strangely though, amongst the picturesque scene, there was no sign of intelligent life. 

When he arrived, the air felt as if before a heavy storm. It was filled with electricity, taut, and ready to explode. Where Phil had expected to find another huge god in the ruins of society, instead, the god looked hardly older than a teenager. 

Sandy brown hair hung over his ears, wearing baggy green pants and a white shoulder-less shirt. He was covered in sunburns and freckles, hands and bare feet smeared with mud and silt. 

The oddest piece of the new god was a circular mask, adorned with a haunting grin. It was made of carved wood, painted with berries and river clay. 

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Phil. I believe he’s an Abstract.” 

Abstracts were man-made gods, which usually didn’t last long. They were human ideas with just enough faith to cause short survival. Strangely, this one hadn’t gone with the rest. He most likely was just barely younger than Rebirth. 

“Yes.” The new god sounded like thousands of voices in sync, light and masculine. 

“What do you do?” Phil asked, standing beside Kristen. She was cloaked with a silk white dress to match her pale gold and white wings. She was a stark contrast to Phil’s warm black tunic. 

Phil hadn’t felt unnerved till the creature raised its hands to the mask. It pushed its fingers beneath, trying it out with the sound of creaking bone and shifting flesh. The more that the new god pulled away its mask, the worse the tension in the air got. The feeling was almost suffocating as it dropped the mask. 

Beneath, where a face should have been, was void. Unlike Phil’s wings, there were no galaxies of freedom in that blackness. It was swallowing and consuming, both intoxicating and repulsive. Kristen had steadied herself against Phil.

The new god didn’t need to speak. The feeling he produced was more than enough to give any and all information that they required. An abstract born of neither Phil nor Kristen, devoid of their influence entirely. 

It was DreamXD. And it was Control. 

Death and Life both promised freedom, to let go or to explore the new world. But Dream was the shackle of the mind that played with those around him. He was in Control where others thought they had won. 

“Do you understand now?” Dream spoke. He didn’t raise his hand to lift the mask. Steel wire was wrapped around each of his fingers, of which it seemed he could manipulate at will. Strangely, there was a red string instead of wire around his right middle finger. 

“Yes,” Kristen spoke first, unfolding her wings from her back to leave quickly as possible. Dream pushed the mask back on, with just a horrific sound as it when he removed it. 

“Yes,” Phil answered as well, wishing to draw the sickle from his back and cut down this creature. As the humans developed, so did Dream. As Foolish had said, it was undoubtedly that the new gods would just be reborn again. 

The youngest god was an enemy to both Phil and Kristen. Not an Abstract, but still a man-made concept. Wartime was horrifying of both Life and Death. The Dead fell in the thousands, many of which were left to rot. Those who were Alive were haunted constantly by Death, fear, and grief in every action. 

Phil found the new god when he was collecting those lost at War. The field was foggy, ringed with hawthorn and creeping vines. Corpses waited for the cue to allow the earth to eat, covered with flies. Crows and buzzards were circling above, watching the foxes eat below. A single figure stood in the clearing, surveying the carnage silently. From here, Phil knew he was not human. He took a humanoid form, yet the foxes did not scatter as he passed. The crowd would dive close enough that they ruffled his hair. 

Undoubtedly, he was War. His hair was in a bun, the color of the amaranth growing between the aspens. He was wearing a poet blouse with golden trim, the same as his pants. A Roman gladius was sheathed at his hip and Tabar across his back. In his hands was a bow, the quiver just behind the handle of his gladius.

Even from across the clearing, Phil could feel it in the air. The sickening, gut-wrenching aura of hatred. Pure, thoughtless, bright hatred that screamed of violence. The clearing was still, the only sound the call of hungry crows.

“War god. Why do you cause these things?” Phil asked softly, pacing closer cautiously.

The war god spun around, deftly removing an arrow from his quiver and firing it. Even from the barely seconds time reaction, the arrow hovered just above Phil’s right eye. A god of death was unkillable, but the motive was startling nonetheless. It had been a long, long time since anything had even thought itself worth of slaying him. 

“Steady yourself.” The arrow dropped to the ground as if it struck some shield. Judging by the sound, that arrow would have embedded itself into the wood if the shield had been real.

The war god screamed in response, sounding more animal than intelligent. He was humanoid, yet had the tusks of a boar. Most gods had some sort of creature they were related with, yet his seemed to have entwined with him.

Kristen was a moth, and Phil a crow. Mortals who managed to catch sight of them would tell fantastic tales of their wings, even if the others did not believe it. Rebirth was a shark, he was the solidarity, curiosity, and sharpness of mind. He was guardianship, a restart. DreamXD was one of the few without a beast, more likely due to him being an Abstract. Most humans did not believe in Abstracts, not consciously at least. They did not honor Dream as control, but they honored control. 

“War god, you must calm down. I am only asking you a question, I am not challenging you.” Phil walked closer, stepping over the corpses left to grow cold. Any attack against him would have been futile, leaving little room for caution. 

The moment Phil’s foot met ground near to the War god, the Tabar had seemingly materialized in his hands. He held it above Phil, preparing to swing the great ax down upon the Death god’s head. Oddly, he stopped, his entire body straining. The War god dropped his weapon and took a step back, snarling ferally. He glared at his hand, which had a red string around his middle finger. 

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

“War god, what business do you have with DreamXD?” Phil asked, trying to remain calm.

“My name is Technoblade.” The War god huffed, glaring down at Phil.

“Thank you. Once again though, what is your business with DreamXD?” Phil tried again. Any sort of deal with Control was unadvised, if not downright dangerous. Being connected, especially through that odd thread, was distressing. Control and War were not safe to have together.

“Don’t ask me. I woke up with this on. He came to me saying he was the other end, nothing else. I couldn’t kill him either, he was oddly fast. And - well, when I got close I seemed to stop entirely. I don’t know why.” Technoblade’s voice was seething, plucking at the red wire. 

“Okay. What about this? Why are you causing the humans to wage war?”   
Technoblade rested his hand on the gladius, face darkening. 

“Will you stop asking me? I have nothing to say to you, Death god. Do your job.” 

Phil merely sighed, wringing his hands. He took off the sickle, crouching near a fallen man. He ran the tip of the sickle across the corpse, watching as he glowing line through the body. Bodies were like shells, cocoons that Phil needed to break and send home. 

The War God was wandering into the woods, stumbling slightly. The red string on his hand pulled him along. 

It was a week later when finally Phil found DreamXD. He was in the plains where Phil had first found him, balancing on a branch of the honey locust as a shrike would. His hands and feet were placed meticulously around the multiple-inch thorns, humming an unfamiliar tune. 

“Dream! I have an issue, it involves you.”

The god crept forward on his hands and toes, moving strangely between the thorns with inhuman flexibility and accuracy. Phil waited for the unnerving beast below, wings slightly unfurled. He wasn’t sure if it was to intimidate Dream or to leave quickly. 

Dream jumped down, landing before him gently, “Well then, state your case. Did I do something?” 

“The red wire on your hand. It is tied to the War God, Technoblade. Why? Are you influencing the humans through him?” Phil asked, purposely adding the bite to his words. Despite having no face, nor the mask having shifted, Phil had the distinct impression Dream was scowling. 

“With all due respect, I thought you were brighter than that Philza. If you noticed, I can’t control this string. We are tied together, but luckily, he pulls on it a little less than I do.” Dream laughed his awful chorus, pulling the string slightly. 

“Why are you tied together? Techno said he was formed with the string.” Phil reached to touch the taut wire, flinching back for some unknown reason. The vibrant vermillion promised nothing but the sharp sting of a quick wire. It felt oddly threatening. A strange mixture of Dream’s overbearing, suffocating weight and Techno’s feral, bright anger.

“Pet names already? Curious. It appeared on me the day he was formed. As far as I can tell, he made the string. Subconsciously of course.” Dream hummed, plucking the string to create a metallic note. 

“Explain,” Phil commanded. 

“See, so, he’s War and all. The only thing he was created for was senseless killing. Animals and such kill to eat, but humans during War kill for no gain. Not even Morals, whatever the hell those are. But, since that’s his cause, he’s only got one emotion. Hatred. Pure, unthinking, hatred.” The Abstract seemed giddy for a moment, chuckling into the crook of his elbow, “If you have one emotion, you don’t have much Control. I thought it was impossible to be fully driven by one thing, but here we are.”

Dream held up his hand, displaying the red wire, “We are bound together. Hatred is Controlling.”

Phil hated the grin staring back at him, for it felt genuine. The Abstract Loved this strange game he was tied into. Curiosity prompted by selfishness. Breaking the string would be impossible, as it was not of the physical realm. 

Emotion. It is a strange thing to tie two powerful gods together. They were timeless, same as Phil, yet younger. The fire of youth, youth that lasted a millennium, had started matches in their very souls. They would control this world before their fires faded.

As Phil left Dream behind, he began to chase Kristen through space and time. The world had revolved around her for years, and he thought himself special for only having flickered her life. Yet, just as the moth seeks the flame, Phil came running to her. This world was changing, new gods were forming ties and losses, gaining power with subconscious honor. 

If time would take his faith, it would not take the thoughtless game of Life from him. He was no beast, tied to others, but he could form his own bonds. He was not just loss. Life was not some short instance in the slow decay of this world, but it was a beauty. By whatever thing had birthed him, by whatever had whispered for him to wake up, he was made to  _ love  _ Life. And by God of all, so he did.

As he ran to her, each step made it more obvious. Life and Death were supposed to be one, in the end, that strange Love had been forever. There was no fear of holding her, hands cupping the silk of her wings, for he was no poison. He was not the sickness of human fears, but the Love of embracing those who had been left behind. Those nights of wracking pains in his chest, her nights of guilt, all for naught. 

As Kristen hugged him back, she knew it too. They were the raw existence of loneliness, the ragged fear, and the pain of simple existence. Loneliness prompted just by the timeless nature of being apart. They never had enough time together, and even if they would outlive this world, the time would never be enough. 

If the new gods took this world, Phil would still be by her side.

Demi-gods, Kristen said. Two boys. One of song, and the other of bravery. His oldest son was a songbird, taking his parent’s color scheme and his mother’s attitude. The magpie, who grew with music in his mind. He grew with warm blood and a pounding heart. He was Alive, so deeply truly Alive that Phil had sobbed when he held his baby boy. Those hands that meant Death had created and cradled this being of untainted Life. 

His youngest, eight years after his first, was the balance between his parents. He challenged both Life and Death, shouting to the wind with reckless abandon. He would grab his brother’s hand and follow the stars till they fell asleep together in the fields. Neither Kristen nor Phil understood why their children were demigods. They never said anything as the boys grew, silent on the fears of their half-immortality. Age would never take them, nor disease, but damage to their frail forms could. Phil was so painfully aware of it, whenever Tommy came home with tears in his eyes and a scraped knee. 

Techno too, Phil had begun to watch like a personal project. He only appeared for a week or so every few years, yet the boys seemed to Love him. Phil felt the heaviness of his presence for miles, where it seemed the boys immune. He still had a red wire that only grew tauter with every passing, that too, luckily the boys couldn’t see. 

The War god was oddly fond of the growing demi-gods, guarding them under the veil of shadow. He seemed thoughtless in the absence of War, spending most of his time with a deep-sea nymph in any competition they could muster. Those rare moments with Phil’s family, he seemed so still and silent. He still burned with hatred, but those flames had been to soothe as time went by. 

As the boys grew, Phil found himself proud of and terrified for them. Wilbur held a strange amount of his father, as he constantly felt like Death. He beamed Life, but some grayscale undertone had been to break at his persona. Phil didn’t wish to worry about reaping his own son. He had certainly proven himself to be a sound god though, with a voice to raise even the heavens. 

Tommy was almost too brave for his own good, challenging battles he certainly couldn’t take. He fought viciously for a goal that no one knew. Something prompted those boys to leave, chasing a dream they didn’t know they had either. Phil and Kristen had to let them go, only wishing them luck as they went. 

It was some years later when Phil found his sons. In a field of collecting, he found Wilbur. Techno was not far. The War god was standing on a hill, hands raised to summon the deadly beasts that even sent shivers down Phil’s back. It breathed death, in tune with Techno’s screams. The red wire was tied around his throat now, taut enough the skin had begun to break, as he hoarsely screamed to the people below;

_ “I chose  _ **_blood!_ ** _ ” _

Phil left quickly, squeezing his eyes shut. Everyone in this place seemed too young, with thousands of actions and movements before them. They would pass far too soon. Perhaps, hopefully, Foolish would find passion in his soul for these people. These people were not to be collected yet. A room, snuggled in the mountainside, smelled so strongly of death that even the animals of the taiga had hidden in their burrows.   
His son’s face was hardly recognizable. The magpie had fallen so long ago, its song silenced without something left to chase. Wilbur smelled like death as he slammed his hand into the button, turning the place of Love to nothingness. When his sweet, little boy collapsed against him, Phil couldn’t help but cry. That life that had felt so new, such a blessing to his death coated hands, had ended up just the war he feared. Phil drew a glowing heart on his son’s back to let his soul go. 

Sorry was not enough to fill the hole he had carved. Wilbur was gone. His songbird, his little boy who had loved dandelions. His little boy who had laughed when Techno shouted at him for falling in love with a water nymph. His boy. Kristen’s boy. Their  _ child.  _

When the ash had settled, and each line was drawn in those fallen, did Phil tell Techno of Wilbur. As soon as the words fell from his lips, so did the wire from his hands and throat. It was broken, no different than a normal string.

“Techno - “ Phil cut himself off. Tears were running down the War god’s face, his head shaking softly in denial. There were lines of neon pink on most of his limbs where the strings had been pulling for centuries. He looked confused, gently touching the thick tears running down his face. 

“Did you hurt me?” Techno whispered, knees buckling so he collapsed against the battered ground. He kept wiping his face as if trying to see a wound. Phil sat beside him, gently lay his hand on the War god’s back. 

“My chest hurts. My entire body hurts. I feel heavy, and I’m crying. Phil, I’m not supposed to cry. Why am I not angry? Phil, this hurts. Why...Why does everything hurt?” Techno wailed, hugging himself. He curled inward, setting his head against his ground. 

“You’re grieving, Techno. That is sadness.” Phil whispered. 

“I’m not supposed to…” Techno trailed off, hands buried in his hair. His entire body was shaking as he slowly unlatched one hand, clawing at the string. He tried to tie it back around his hand, only for it to fall again. 

“Yes. You are. Hatred cannot exist without Love.” Phil whispered, leaving his hand on the War god’s back. Hatred did not exist without Love, as nothing could be Hated unless you felt Love. Techno had denied himself the Love of family for so long, only losing it to realize he ever had it. Phil knew he was right to find family, even losing it, as he watched Techno fumble with the string till it was frayed. Pain wore heavy on the soul but never knowing Love was far worse. 

Finding his second son was like finding Techno for the first time. Tommy looked thousands of years away, gazing at the setting sun with a thoughtful look. Time had stacked against the boy. Metal wires were tied at his every joint like that of a puppet. He didn’t seem to see them, just as he hadn’t seen Techno’s. When he looked at Phil, there was no Love in his eyes. There was faded bravery, a mere challenge to Death itself. 

If Phil was not there to reap him, then he should not come at all. So he did not. Techno spent only some time with the boy, keeping him at arm's reach. Love was still too much for the War god. Foolish paid the demi-god no mind, where Dream haunted his every moment.

Those wires creaked so loud. Phil spent his time in the gardens with Kristen instead, grieving two boys despite only having buried one. 


End file.
